Eventually Hell - Kid
by Viskey HeroMouse
Summary: Just a short link between part 1 and part 3 of this story, but an important one. Putting a few things within the team in order.
1. Chapter 1

_The second story in the"Eventually Hell"-quartett. It is a lot shorter than I remembered, just 4 chapters, but here it is, and I rather like it. I hope you do too. (And I feel it is an important link between the first and the third story. Without this, the jump would be too big.)  
_

* * *

Hannibal had got used to Face being back. Although it became more and more apparent that not all of Face had come back.

At first, after being so miraculously reunited, Hannibal had rejoiced over the simple fact that Face was still alive, and everything had been fantastic. Then he had rejoiced that Face was recuperating, getting his strength and health back, and everything had been good.

And there was hardly a happier day than the day Face had finally been released from hospital.

He could have gone back home, but like Murdock, he had opted to stay. And, like with Murdock, Hannibal started to wonder whether that was a good idea. Although Murdock was doing a lot better since Face had returned. So maybe...

But no. Hannibal knew that that was not the case. Something was wrong with Face, and now that he saw him every day again, not just for a couple of hours every other week or so, it was undeniable. There was no freaking out, no emotional breakdown, no testiness. He didn't even seem to have nightmares.

Hannibal had put Murdock and Face into one room in their new quarters, so they could have an eye on each other, and report back any problems. But so far, nothing, not from the one and not from the other.

Maybe that meant that there really was nothing. Or maybe they were both so caught up in their own problems that they couldn't see it in the other. And Hannibal wondered what was wrong with himself that he could not tell which one it was.

But no. No, he knew which one it was. He knew that neither of the two was alright. Murdock was quaint and weird. Face was charming, good-humoured and easy-going.

And while Hannibal fully believed and comprehended Murdock's behaviour, he didn't believe Face's.

Because there were the times, when Face thought that nobody was looking, that the facade slipped. It all fell away, leaving bitter lines carved into his young features, and a blankness in his eyes.

He had tried to talk with Face about it once, had given him the opportunity to start dealing with things, but it had not gone well.

* * *

"Face?" Hannibal spoke softly, didn't want to startle him.

Face closed his eyes for a second, turned his head away for another second, and when he looked up at Hannibal, the bitter lines and empty eyes were gone, hidden behind the mask of languid contentment. "Hey, Colonel. Something you need?"

"No. All stocked up at the moment."

"Good." Face nodded. "Then..." He looked at Hannibal with the hint of a conspiratorial grin. "What do you _want_?"

That was it, the make-or-break-moment. "I want to be here for you." Like before he spoke softly, evenly. He must not spook Face off. He had never been good with serious talk, and Charlie's treatment surely had not made it better. But he could not just sit by and do nothing either. He had to...

"That's very kind of you, Colonel. I'll let you know when I actually need you," Face interrupted Hannibal's thoughts in a voice, equally soft and even. He looked as if he really meant it.

And almost, _almost_ , Hannibal was convinced, thought that maybe he had only imagined the bitter lines and blank eyes. Almost. "I think you need me right now."

"Well, you think wrong." A slight pause. "I don't need anyone."

Jesus, what a grand claim, so very Face - and bound to be wrong. "Everybody needs somebody else, Face. – That's a human principle."

Face stared at Hannibal for a moment before he broke into laughter.

It irritated Hannibal, but he understood that it was merely a defence-technique. As long as Face laughed, he couldn't speak. Ergo he did not have to speak. Ergo he had time to think of an answer. Or just laugh, till he didn't have to answer anymore. The irritation remained, though.

"A human principle? Man, where did you pull that one from?"

"Never mind the words, it's the idea that counts, and that is true. You tell me you never needed anyone? Really?" Hannibal was angry with himself for throwing Face that line. Of course Face jumped at it happily, and now used it against him. He should have known better than to argue with a silver-tongued con-man.

"Sure I did, when I was a kid. All kids do. But now I'm grown up." Face was getting irritated, too.

Good. Hannibal saw it with satisfaction. He had known that Face would not be able to keep up the happy act for long. Unfortunately Face was irritated, but not giving up. "You've hardly hit your twenties."

"I _am_ twenty!" Face sounded childishly proud to have left the teenage-years behind.

Hannibal smiled sadly. Twenty, my god, how young. "Face, why's it so hard for you to admit you need something?"

"It ain't hard, I just don't need anything, thank you very much." Face glared at Hannibal sharply before he looked away.

"Then explain to me: Why do I never hear you say: 'I need' or 'can you help'? You never say that."

"I do," Face insisted.

"On superficial matters, yeah. But for yourself, for your personal well-being? I never hear you say any of that. Never."

Face jumped to his feet. "Ah, leave me alone with that crap!"

"Don't run away!" Hannibal shouted and regretted it straight away. Shouting had never worked with Face.

Face stood still, his back to Hannibal. "That an order?" he asked sourly as he slowly turned around.

"If a request doesn't keep you..."

"Colonel." Face saluted.

"Face!" Now Hannibal jumped up too. He couldn't help it, he was shouting again. "Tell me what's happening here! Tell me how I can help you - and don't deny that you need help! I know my men; even better I know my friends. And you _are_ my friend. So tell me." Hannibal stared at Face, who stood it. A minute or so passed in silence, then Face, still holding his look decided to say something.

"Hannibal, eventually hell, too, is but accommodation."

* * *

After that Face had dropped his eyes and walked away, and Hannibal had never tried again. Face was so stubborn. A decision once made was nearly impossible to get out of his head again.

So he had to bide his time. Sooner or later Face's mask would crack and break. The insides would spill out, Hannibal would pick up the pieces and put them back together. But until then, there was nothing he could do but wait. It drove him mad.

And what had he meant with that last comment anyway? Hannibal was sure that it was to do with the death-camp, but to call that accommodation...

"Colonel?"

Hannibal jerked his head up. The subject of his dark thouhts stood in front of him, slick and smooth as ever. "Lieutenant, 's there a problem?"

"No problem, just playing cards and looking for another player. Care to join in?"

Hannibal smiled despite himself. It was so easy to fall for the masquerade, even when you knew. "Only if you promise not to cheat me out of my last shirt."

"Deal." Face smiled too. "Although, you could always just request a new one." He ran his fingers through his hair, brushed some dust from his shirt.

"In that case, Lieutenant, lead the way."

No five minutes later, they were seated around a makeshift table.

Hannibal watched carefully, Face looked so normal. He shouldn't. He shuffled the cards, lit Jerry's cigarette, dealt, made his first bet. For all Hannibal knew, he could legally freak out, and nobody could blame him. Charlie had almost beaten him to death, had starved him... and god knows what else. It was no secret that Charlie indulged in torture, and not just for information. It was also a known fact that Charlie included rape with their torture techniques. Had that happened to Face? There were no indicators, none that Hannibal would have recognised, at least.

Face appeared like he used to be, a little jumpy maybe, but other...

"Colonel?"

Hannibal pulled himself from his thoughts, looked at his cards. It was a crap hand, but that had never stopped him. "I see your two and raise you five."

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Face padded his back pocket and all the money it contained. It had been a quite successful game for him, more so than usual. Now he was headed for his quarters to get some time alone.

It became exhausting, being Face, although it was still better than the alternative: being himself, or what was left of him. That would be shrieking madness.

Regardless of that, he needed to get rid of Face from time to time. Not for too long, mind you, must not let the remnants come too close to the surface, because they would carry tears with them, and soldier's don't cry. Men don't cry.

The goal of those minutes of letting go was to put aside all the pretences and... just exist, like a stone might exist.

Stones don't cry. Stones don't feel. Stones don't have to meet expectations.

Hannibal, of course it was him, had almost managed to drag him all the way up to the surface and through it, pull him into the open, make him crack and break open.

And why? Because he had not been careful enough. He had been sitting in a semi-public place, staring into fancy distance, realising too late that Hannibal was watching. He had gathered his disguises, but not quickly enough, and Hannibal's soft voice had drilled into all the tender spots.

He had cowardly run away, leaving a no doubt furious Hannibal behind. Hannibal hated it when things didn't go his way.

Face entered the building they had requisitioned. It was strictly speaking off base, but nobody really cared. It housed a good two dozen of men, and they all had their quarters on the upper floors, all, except for Hannibal and his personal, select team of three.

Hannibal shared a room with BA, but actually spent most of his nights in the little office he had set up for himself, and that lay right across the hall from Face's and Murdock's room, that Face now entered. It was empty, thankfully. Murdock had to roam the grounds somewhere.

Face pulled the money from his pocket and stashed it in his locker, before he threw himself onto his bunk.

With a long breath - not quite a sigh - he exhaled Face, the person he started to hate. Because it was so fake.

Faceman had been more of a show than anything else, right from the start - _especially_ in the beginning. But over time he had grown into the role, had filled it with reality. There had been enough of himself in Face to make the costume fit.

But now it was too tight in some places and too loose in others. It just wasn't comfortable anymore, and it took energy, so much energy, to keep it up, keep it in place, lest he stumbled over it.

Another deep breath. More of Face was exhaled.

He wondered who he was, now that he wasn't Face anymore.

Was he Templeton Peck? No, he was a college boy, a naive idiot who knew jack squat about anything. And he died anyway, the day Leslie left.

One of those he had been before? No. He had never been any of them, that's why he had kept inventing himself over and over again, hoping that one day, finally, he would find the one that would be him.

Face... for a while there he had thought that he would be the one. But then... Then Charlie happened, and this latest version of him got burned. Bad. He needed a new one. He had no idea how to figure out a new one. He didn't have the energy.

So who the hell was he supposed to be now?

The answer came quick and unexpected: Trash.

Trash, was that what he was? Was that what Charlie had left? Trash? No, no, couldn't be. Nobody can be trash, right?

But he felt it. He felt like trash.

Tears came. They were gathering in his eyes, threatening to ignore his will and just fall.

Stones don't cry, be a stone.

He turned away from the entrance and pulled up his blanket. That was the only defence he had left.

Please, Murdock, stay away for a little while longer. Just until I got this situation back under control.

Tears fell. A sea of tears fell.

He couldn't stop them.

Stones don't cry, soldiers nd men don't cry. But he did.

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Murdock watched Face from the distance. His best buddy could not act well enough to fool him; there were changes.

He knew that Hannibal had noticed it too, and probably had made the mistake of trying to fix it. BA, at least, was not that meddling. He himself, he knew there was no sense in trying anything as long as Face worked so hard at hiding it.

He sighed. Whereas Hannibal felt less guilty since Face's return, he now felt guiltier than ever. So much he could have done, so much pain he could have lessened if... If only he had said something, done something.

He had not been imagining things that day, he had actually seen Face. But instead of speaking up, he had kept his mouth shut, too ashamed of his own state of mind. He never once stopped to think that Face may have survived after all. He had just accepted for a fact that Face was gone. It remained a mystery to him, how he could have given up on his friend so easily. Some friend he was.

And because of his failure Hannibal had beaten himself up, BA had grieved, and Face had gone through the aftermath all by himself, without his friends' help and support. He may have died, thinking there was no one left in the world caring for him. Unfortunately, Face dying had not been a hypothetical for a while. For him, the rescue had come just in time. A few hours later, and he might not have lived to see it. And even with events playing out the way they did, it had been touch and go for a week.

No wonder, all that blood...

This whole stupid plight had one upside however. Murdock was quite certain that neither Hannibal nor BA quite knew what Face had had to endure. Face was surely not going to put them into the picture.

If Face wanted to hide it, then for the time being, Murdock would help him hide it.

"Hey, Murdock, interested?" Suddenly, somehow Face stood in front of him.

Murdock managed to not jump out of his skin completely, just a little bit. "Jeez, Faceman, don't do this to me!" Captain Skymaster complained.

"Sorry, I guess," Face apologized half-heartedly, then held up a chess-set in question. He didn't play chess often, although he was pretty good at it. But, as he had once complained: _It's so hard to cheat at chess._

Face waved the set a bit, still waiting for an answer.

"Sure, why not."

Face walked over to the small table, making space for the set.

Deep inside, Murdock shuddered guiltily under the image of an all red Face, carried through the chaos of battle. Murdock squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.

Captain Skmaster took a seat opposite of Face and confidently demanded: "I take black."

"Unlike all the other times," Face teased, already setting up the white pieces for himself.

* * *

Hannibal had gathered them in his little office, a map spread out on his desk, explaining their next mission to them.

It was the first real mission Face was going to be part of. So far, it had been only light stuff, hardly worth of being called a mission. But this one... it was importand and fairly risky, the kind of mission they had done on a regular basis before they had got caught. About time.

"So, what is this important information anyway?" BA asked.

Hannibal squared his shoulders and put a wide grin on.

Uh-oh, Face thought. Not good.

"We don't actually know", Hannibal said, still grinning broadly. "Coud be anything. Maps, codes, numbers, troop movements, supply channels..."

"Great," BA mumbled.

"All we know for sure: Charlie doesn't want this information in our hands."

"Which could be said about everything Vietcong, from information down to toiletpaper," BA stated.

Hannibal was stumped for a moment, then shrugged. "What's the difference? We got orders to go grab that info, so we go grab that info."

Right. There was an undisputable point.

"Can we move on then?" Hannibal asked irritably and went on to do just that. "Right. Face, you take post here." He pointed at a small rectangle on the map.

Face looked. "A shed?" He said testily. "Must I?"

"We need a man in there to overlook the scene."

"So, put BA in the shed, and..."

"Can't, I need BA here, next to me." Hannibal pointed at a piece of road. "Plus, you missed the keyword, Lieutenant: overlook. That makes it your job, you're the one with the sniper-eyes."

Face grimaced at the word. "I failed sniper-training," he pointed out.

"Only because you chose to," Hannibal countered.

"Yeah, well." Face couldn't argue with that, he _had_ messed it up on purpose. But to know that he killed with pretty much every bullet he fired - no. As a regular grunt he could tell himself that most of his bullets missed their target, and he found that that did wonders for his peace of mind.

"So you are here," Hannibal repeated, and pointing at the rectangle on the map with more emphasis than the first time.

"How about Murdock, Murdock has good eyes," Face was not going to just give up.

"Too far from the chopper," Murdock answered instead of Hannibal. "This is the only sensible place to put the chopper down." He pointed at a tiny clearing in a small extention of the nearby wood. "Too far from where the action's gonna be."

Hannibal smiled at him proudly.

"Fine, me and the shed it is," Face sourly accepted his fate.

* * *

Murdock landed the chopper in the appointed clearing, and while it had already looked tiny on the map, in reality it was virtually non-existent.

"Job very well done, Captain," Hannibal commended and hopped off the chopper. He clearly had missed being on missions, proper missions.

"Hannibal, you know I still don't like this plan much," Face complained, following Hannibal out.

"What exactly don't you like about it?" Hannibal asked lightly.

"All of it?" Face asked back.

"But it's a perfect plan, what can possibly go wrong?" And he had the audacity to even wiggle his eyebrows at him.

"I just don't like this mission, ok? Who tells us this isn't a trap? I mean, if this information is so tremendously secret, why don't they just fly it over? Would be a lot faster."

" _Because_ it is so tremendously secret, Face. They're trying to mislead us. – But they didn't count with the A-Team, the best of the best." Hannibal grinned self-satisfied.

"And planes can be shot down," BA contributed.

"Unless I fly them."

BA grunted at Murdock, Hannibal still grinned.

"Still don't like it." Face shook his head in resignation.

"Oh, you're just still miffed I made you take that post."

"It's a shed," Face accused.

"It's a good post, safest post of us all, except maybe for Murdock's."

Face reluctantly nodded his head. "Suppose so," he gave in.

"Good. I trust we're done griping? Fine, then can we finally get to doing this mission." Hannibal shouldered his rifle and set off westward with unnaturally happy determination.

"Man, I hate him when he is like that," BA said softly.

"You're not the only one," Face agreed, then shouldered his own rifle and followed Hannibal through the underbrush.

Their paths parted half an hour after leaving the treeline behind. Hannibal and BA went due south, Face made his way north.

About ten minutes later he reached the shed. There were a few bushes around it, and maybe he could hide in those? But no, they were too thin, too risky to stay outside.

Thankfully he still had a few more hours to spare, but sooner or later he would have to hide, and there really wasn't anything but the shed.

Maybe he should check it out. Hannibal had predicted that there would be gaps in the walls, and there were. From the outside they seemed big enough, but he could only get a conclusive picture if he looked at them from inside.

Taking a deep breath Face pulled the door open. He leaned forward a bit, sniffed. Seemed to be alright. It smelled of dust and bird poop. Good. Slowly Face stepped inside, pulled the door closed behind him.

The light dimmed considerably. The gaps created stripes of light and darkness that made it hard to see. But he didn't have to see anything on the inside anyway. Face walked to each wall, peered outside, pushed the muzzle of his rifle through the broader gaps, widened one.

Yes, this would indeed work fine. Hannibal had been right once again. He could see everybody coming from all sides without being seen himself. He could take care of them if need be, without ever being in danger of being shot himself. Well, not great danger.

Yes, this would work. He could wait for the action to begin, which would be soon if their intel was right, and everything would be fine.

He pulled back, switched walls. Out of the corner of his eyes something caught his attention. There, from the wall opposite the door, hung a rusty iron ring. Face was outside faster than he could even understand why he was dashing.

The panic abated immediately, once he stood in the bright early afternoon sun. This was not the crappy cell in the camp. He could leave it, as proven an instant earlier. This was not the camp. Nobody was going to do horrible things to him in there. He could do this.

Cautiously Face stepped back to the hut, peered inside. Earthen floor, patches of old straw, mainly in the corners, old, wooden tools hanging from the left-hand wall, two bird's-nests under the roof. And most importantly: No iron ring in the opposite wall. Just a trick of the mind, that one.

This was not his cell in the death-camp, it was just an old, abandoned agricultural shed.

He could do this. With slow, measured steps he stepped back inside, checked and re-checked that there was no stinking bucket in one corner, no rags in another and no iron rings on the walls anywhere.

He could do this.

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Almost an hour later there was still no sign of action anywhere. Damn intel.

Face still felt uneasy, but had a grip on his fears now. They were irrational and stupid, and... well, not entirely unexpected, if he was perfectly honest with himself. But that didn't mean he could just give in and not fight them.

If he wanted to live, he had to master them.

Two minutes per cardinal direction, that's what he had settled on. That gave him a full 360° view of the land every eight minutes. With how his hide-out was situated, that should give him ample warning time if something should go wrong.

Two minutes of staring out the north-side wall at empty landscape. Switch to east-side wall.

Face pulled his rifle's barrel from the gap and threaded it into the east-side gap. He looked outside... and recoiled.

There they were, coming out of the wood and straight to his position.

This was not how it was supposed to go! They were not supposed to be so many for starters, Face counted twelve people. And they were not supposed to be on foot either, but in a car. They were supposed to drive along the road, passing Hannibal's and BA's position, not come over to him!

Face quickly checked the view down south, where Hannibal and BA were stationed. Everything quiet there. Face returned to his place at the eastern wall. They were about three minutes out now, maybe four. How had he missed them? It was not quite an hour's hike from the wood... Had they stumbled across Murdock there? But no, no. They would have heard something. Murdock would have contacted them, or blown up the chopper or something. No, Murdock was safe.

They must have used the small groups of trees along the way for cover, like he himself had. But it was a lot harder to hide twelve men behind those than just one ...

Never mind, they were there, they were coming steadily closer, time to act. Face yanked out his walkie-talkie. "Hannibal, red-one." That was maybe overstating it, but surely not for long. They were still coming straight at him.

"Face, what's..." That's where the question ended, Hannibal must have seen for himself. "Hang tight."

"Hanging." Not that he had much choice.

How many could he shoot? Could he get them all? Surely not, that was utopistic. How much protection could the old wooden boards give him? Because once he started shooting, they would instantly know where the fire came from.

Damn, what did he do? He might as well have become a fucking sniper. At least then he would have a precision rifle to go with the job.

Damn! No time to dawdle. Face lined up his rifle, took aim.

He got two, before the rest of them hit the ground, and started shooting back.

The old boards held better than Face had dared to hope. So far he was uninjured, and he had a third man in his field of fire. Not a kill-shot, but hopefully the injury was enough to stop him from approaching any further.

A fourth man he missed altogether. Damn, damn, damn. He had to stop them, must not let them reach the shed, because if they did, that was it for him. He had not lived through all that shit just to bite it now.

Number five went down, injured or dead, he did not know.

That's when suddenly the door flew open.

Damn, fucking damn, where had this guy come from? Face stumbled back from his rifle, it kept hanging at an odd, sick looking angle from the wall. With his hands slightly raised, he stared at the man, quickly saying a silent good-bye to the world and everybody in it that he cared for. It was a depressingly short good-bye.

But Charlie did not shoot.

Why didn't he ... oh no. No, no, no, not a camp, not another camp, oh no, no. No. Face dropped to his knees. "Please. Please, no camp." His voice was a shaky whisper, he hardly recognised it as his own.

Charlie stood and stared. Almost as if he could not make sense of what he saw. "What do you know?"

"Know? I know nothing, honestly, I swear," Face quickly assured. "Please?" He fearfully looked up at the man, not knowing anymore what exactly he was pleading for. He was young, probably still in his teens. God, to be killed by a kid...

"Why shall I believe you?"

"It's true, please, I swear! I don't know anything, really." Face hated himself for his cowardice. Wasn't he able to die like a man? Obviously not.

"I don't believe you."

A shot rang out and Face dropped to the floor.

It took him a moment to realize that it wasn't him that was hit. It was a Vietcong, lying half inside, half outside the hut. Not the one who had spoken to him, that one still stood there, his attention now on the dead man at his feet.

Hannibal, maybe BA, but less likely. Hannibal was the better marksman.

The thought of his guys somehow jumpstarted his brain back into action. Face was up on his feet in a flash, grabbed his rifle, yanked it from the gap, where it still stuck, swirled around and shot.

Aiming and shooting were one.

With surreal clarity, he saw every small detail of the scene. He saw the young man's eyes, his eyelashes, the curve of his lips, the smooth skin in the V of his dirty shirt, and the spot of dark spreading around the small hole Face had just put in said shirt.

The man fell in slow motion.

"Face?!" BA shouted, still hidden outside.

"I'm ok!" Face shouted back. "That all of them?!" He still had his rifle trained at the door, ready to shoot.

"Yeah, we got them!" That was Hannibal, and a moment later he slowly stepped through the door. He had his own weapon still at the ready. "Face, you ok?"

"Yeah, Hannibal. I'm... Thanks." He looked at the man he'd killed. His throat tightened up and he dropped the rifle, like it was suddenly singeing his hands. It landed unspectacularly at his feet. "Oh man, I hate this..."

Hannibal walked over to him and put his arm around his shoulders. Face tensed, and Hannibal reluctantly let it drop away again. "It's not your fault, kid. This is war. You or them."

Face swallowed. "But aren't they just like us?"

* * *

Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment, not knowing what to answer to that. Because of course they were just like them. And yet they were not. "It's us or them." It was a cheap cop-out. But at least Face's eyes left the body on the floor, turning to him now. They were swimming in tears.

"I know, but... There'll be a day, maybe, when I'll choose them."

Hannibal swallowed against a giant lump in his throat. Damn, he had asked too much of Face. He wasn't ready for risky missions yet. How had he not seen that before now? "I'm sorry, Kid. My fault."

"Yes."

One word, spoken with so much undoubted conviction. It hurt, no matter that it was true.

"Yes," Face repeated, a bit smoother this time, "your fault. And mine. I should... should have told you, you can't count on me anymore."

"You worked pretty well, I'd say," Hannibal contradicted. He was not having anyone putting his men down, planting doubts in their minds; and that included his men themselves.

"No, no. Let me explain." Face wiped at his eyes, took a step away. "I'm not... no, you..." he fell silent, drew a deep breath to gather his wits, then looked sternly at Hannibal, "You, when you plan, right, you have us in mind." Hannibal nodded. "Us and our abilities and possibilities, right?"

"Sure, what else?"

"But you don't _know_ my abilities anymore, Hannibal, you don't know _me_!"

Hannibal was silent, once more not quite sure what to say to that.

"I don't know about you, but I came out a different person," Face said, all the strength drained from his voice. "There are just things I can't do anymore," he said with an apologetic shrug.

"Like being in a little shed like this?" Hannibal asked. It had been there, right before his eyes, right from the start, and he had just ignored it. Because he had been so amped up to go back on real missions with his complete team. What a screw-up.

Face nodded. "I tried to tell you..."

"Yeah, I get that now. I should have paid better attention. I should have known you were not just bitching around." It was as close to an apology as he would go.

Face nodded. He understood and accepted it. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." He patiently waited for Face to work up the nerve. It took a while.

"Who am I?" Face finally asked.

"Come again?" Hannibal blinked a few times with confusion. "I don't get that."

"Who am I?" Face repeated. "I am not Templeton Peck anymore. He died just before I came to Vietnam. And I'm not Face anymore, either. He died in the camp, in that cell. So who or what does that leave? Who am I?"

This time, Hannibal was not shot of an answer. "Well, leave it aside that I do believe there's still a heap of Face in you..." Face did not care much for that reply, obviously, so Hannibal quickly changed direction. "No matter who else you might be, for me, you'll always be my Kid. - Go with that?"

Face looked at him long and pensively. "Yeah," he finally said. "Yeah, I guess I can go with that." His eyes travelled around the small room aimlessly for a while.

Hannibal waited patiently again. He had failed Face at least one too many times already, he better start paying attention to him if he did not want to lose him after all.

"It's kinda funny, you know?" Face finally said, looking back at Hannibal.

And was it imagination, or was there really a spark of hope in his eyes?

"I don't think I've ever been anybody's kid before. Not really."

Not by choice, he means. "Well, you are now."

* * *

 _Please, excuse the sappy ending._ :)

TBC in part three "Touch"


End file.
